A/N: Thanks to Nautibitz and her chapter "Naked" for the inspiration and some of the dialogue for this chapter. I think this is what you have been waiting for - I hope it was worth the wait. You know how to let me know if you liked it or not. But it was either post it or keep fiddling with it...


Chapter 22. Showtime

Buffy knew that she wasn’t one hundred percent. She was just aware enough to know that her thoughts were impaired. She was drunk, her vision was clouded, and her senses were still reeling from her reaction to Spike’s bite, to say nothing of the abrupt end of the thrall and the fight that had accompanied it. By now it was a mock battle, but those first several blows had been real. The multitude of images she had picked up from Spike’s mind spun faster and faster in her head, and she wasn’t quite sure anymore just what was real and what wasn’t.

As she thought that, she realized that she was in no condition for a real fight – even if she wanted to try to fight her way out of the auction all. It just wasn’t feasible right now. Her mind was in turmoil, and her body was a quivering mess of over excited nerve endings she could barely control. No, fighting was NOT a viable option.

Starting to rise, Buffy reached out for Spike. Running her tongue across her upper lip, she knew what she needed to do now.

Spike’s shirt was already off. Has it been off the whole time? Buffy found she couldn’t remember. She stroked the taught firm flesh of his shoulders and the flexing muscles of his arms. Let her hands roam over the smooth hard planes of his chest, as she felt the pace of her breathing increase and her mouth begin to salivate.

Swallowing, she leaned in to lick the soft pebble of his nipple before allowing her lips to wander lower. She could feel Spike’s start of surprise as she began to unbuckle his belt, her tongue tracing the waist line of his pants and playing with the faint hairs that grew down from his navel.

The blood was rushing so loudly in Buffy’s ears that she could barely hear Spike’s words as he pushed her to her knees and ran his hands through her hair. Spike knew that he had a part to play to the crowd. Knew what they thought they’d seen: him letting the violence arouse the Slayer’s lust while he fought her to submission and then brought her under his control once again.

"She's only good for one thing," Spike said to the cameras. His voice dropped to a lower register as he continued, his throat dry, "But she's very good at it."

The rest seemed surreal - like a dream to both of them. Spike picked up that thought from Buffy’s mind and decided that was a good idea to foster. He let the random images from his subconscious continue to tumble unfiltered into the Slayer’s mind, confusing her utterly. Perhaps the Slayer’s memory about what she had been forced to do would be unclear, and she wouldn’t stake him for it later.

But even if she did dust him – it would almost be worth it. He trembled as Buffy slowly slid down his leather pants the rest of the way, nearly crying in relief as he felt his swelling erection momentarily cradled by her warm palms.

Looking down at her lovingly he saw puzzlement in her gaze and longed to reassure her that all would be well. Pursing her lips she gulped and gazed tentatively back up at him, her uncertain voice ringing accusingly in his ears, “Spike?”

Filling the subtext with love he dared not express aloud for fear of the microphones, he answered her harshly. “Go on. Don’t keep your audience waiting, girl.”

Taking his girth into her hands again, Buffy tentatively brushed her lips against his icy firmness. Letting her tongue slide down the length of him, she began to hum and Spike almost lost it there and then. Pulling back a little, Buffy suddenly found her lips encircling his weeping tip.

Her fumbling hands and soft tender lips were shy and almost too gentle. The soft slow pace of this encounter was going to test his stamina as nothing had before. And he knew that he would get only this one chance. He’d be fooling himself if he allowed himself to think that anything like this might ever happen again. He needed to commit every sensation to memory. Needed to make it last as long as possible.

“That’s a good girl,” he encouraged, as he slid deeper into her open mouth. Caressing her hair with his hands, he helped her find a comfortable rhythm, and let himself revel in the feel of her warm lips surrounding him.

Gods, he wanted to take her fully. Wanted to give her pleasure until neither of them could stand it any longer. But the tradition of the auction demanded that he must stand and take what she had to give.

Vaguely he could hear the voice of the little troll of an announcer in the background, urging them on and providing a narration of the action whenever Buffy’s head blocked the camera’s view before they could switch to a different angle. God help him, but that was turning him on too. He could see the whole thing being broadcast on the monitors: the Slayer on her knees before him, her face as she worked over his member, even his own face as he struggled not to come too soon. It was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

All he knew for sure about Buffy’s prior bedroom experience was that she wasn’t a virgin. He knew for a fact that she’d slept with Angel, Captain Cardboard, and that idiot back in college. In a moment of insight, he wondered whether the Slayer had ever done this particular act before. Even if she had, he was certain that it had not happened in anything resembling this setting, or even this manner. On her knees was not a position he imagined the Slayer would ever be fond of. More likely to be the other way around.

His nonexistent breath caught in his throat again, and once more he had to force himself back from coming too soon.

Gritting his teeth and swallowing hard, Spike began cataloging Buffy’s past lovers as a sure way to stave off his orgasm a little longer. He knew that she’d slept with Angel and made him lose his soul. But he didn’t know the particulars. Only that Angel had been her first. It seemed unlikely that fellatio had been involved.

Then there had been that undeserving git of a wanker on campus. He seemed the type to ask a girl to suck his cock, but somehow he doubted that Buffy would have been that eager to please the boy on their first and only night together. That left Riley. Somehow Riley didn’t seem like the type – but then he knew that looks could be deceiving.

Vaguely Spike heard the crowd begin to roar their approval as impossibly high numbers were shouted out to the Auctioneer who was busily figuring out his cut. In the part of his mind that was still capable of rational thought, Spike knew he could never afford even the commission.

He could understand the appeal. What wouldn’t he give to have the Slayer’s lips wrapped around him whenever he wanted?

Just the thought of it… He couldn’t hold off any longer.

Spurting ropes of semen emptied into Buffy’s waiting mouth, coating the back of her throat and dribbling down her chin. Stepping back to allow her to swallow, Spike stumbled, and then they both fell to the hard floor of the stage, exhausted.

The hard cold reminder of harsh reality warned him he had to stop thinking of fairy tale happily ever-afters, and get his mind back on what they hoped to accomplish. They had a vampire to slay and a witch to rescue, never mind extricating themselves from the predicament their attempt at subterfuge had gotten them into, or worrying about just what exactly the Slayer would or would not remember or hold him accountable for once their mission was accomplished.

Trying to get his mind to start working again, he turned his attention back to the incredible woman who lay beside him, and was suddenly abashed.

She was crying.

Had she finally awoken from her alcohol and thrall induced haze? Was she aware of what had just occurred? What they had done, and where?

Still afraid to speak aloud in case the microphones picked it up, he tried to reach her mind to mind. There were cameras and sound feeds everywhere. Even he had momentarily forgotten that their performance was being recorded for the benefit of those who would purchase the tape. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten everything except the feel of her lips around him.

Instead he stroked Buffy’s hand and spoke gently mind to mind. ‘It’s all over, luv. Everything but the big rescue scene. Shh.’

But Buffy wouldn’t be comforted, until finally it registered in Spike’s mind through the bond just what her problem was. It wasn’t what he had expected at all.

Opening himself to her, he let himself feel some of what she had been feeling. Through the link he was both astonished and ashamed. He’d roused the Slayer, repeatedly, and then just left her there, teetering at the peak, unfulfilled. Although he had given her pleasure with his bite, and she had enjoyed giving him pleasure, he had hardly touched her flesh.

Her body was craving his touch so badly that it was almost painful for her. Embarrassed, he remembered that he had sometimes tortured Dru by denying her – but he had never realized that it felt like this. This was the first and probably only time that he and Buffy would ever be together, and he’d be damned if he was going to leave her unfulfilled, whether she would remember it or not.

Lifting the red leather of her skirt, he gazed on the naked flesh glistening beneath. He felt her tremble as he slipped one finger into her impossibly tight opening, then sigh in contentment as he moved it slowly in and out. She gasped when he added a second finger, then began to use his thumb to caress her clit.

He could feel Buffy’s cunt begin to tighten around his fingers, her walls beginning to tremble. Pushing him away with one hand while reaching for him with the other, Spike was momentarily flummoxed. He knew that his girl was the queen of mixed signals, but he needed to know what it was that she wanted. As her warm hand closed around his length and brought him closer, he finally understood.

He knew he wouldn’t last long. Was still astonished at the mere thought of it, and ashamed of the circumstances that had brought them together. If he had been a stronger man, he should have been able to resist. He knew that he could satisfy her need without actually entering her channel. It was probably the wiser course. But when had he ever been wise?

Unable to stand it any longer, he slowly removed his hand and replaced it with his turgid length, sliding in all the way with one single smooth stroke. He could feel Buffy pulsing beneath him, like living lava. He had to keep moving, afraid he’d be singed by her heat if he tarried.

His lady was a goddess, and this was heaven. Beneath him, he could feel her body spasm and then relax against his as he moved faster and faster in and out of her slick channel.

He knew what all the demons in the audience thought they were seeing. An exhibition of dominance and stamina. He didn’t care. Buffy needed this. He needed this. If he died getting Tara to safety, he would be content.

The sips of the Slayer’s blood that he’d taken earlier sustained him, and gave him hope that they would be able to pull this off successfully. Between the blood and the sex, he couldn’t imagine any other place he’d rather be, even if it cost him his unlife. He could see how vamps might spend their fortunes to try to attain what the Slayer gave him willingly – well, mostly willingly, he admitted to himself.

Finally reaching completion again, the two slumped into each other’s arms, sated, and they both fell into an exhausted sleep. As higher and higher dollar amounts were called out from the excited mob, the pair slept on, uncaring.